Whiskey shots
by ThreeMagpies
Summary: For the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. A collection of short Charloe 'on the road to Willoughby' fics. Lots of bickering and a bit of making up and making out...
1. Chapter 1

Whiskey Burn

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. A kind of follow on from 'Chains'. On the road, Bass and Charlie are finding it hard to keep their cool – and keep their hands off each other. Then there's an explosion.

AN: I am really, really trying to keep to 500 words this time lol!

Somewhere up the road ahead of them and over the next hill, something exploded, the bass rumble and boom startling the horses into a ragged gallop.

Charlie grabbed the rail as the wagon rattled and rolled, bracing herself with her boots against the foot rest to stop herself from falling on Monroe. Which would be bad. Very, very bad. Her whole body tingled at the thought of it. Shit. She so needed some alone time, alone time away from him so she could get take the edge off. It'd been a long, long time since Jeff the barman and a girl had needs. Lots of needs.

She braced harder, just managing to keep to her side of the bench. It didn't help that Monroe looked good and smelled good even rough and dirty and it also really didn't help that she'd just happened to catch sight of him swimming in the river that morning. Naked. She gritted her teeth and held on tighter as he worked on getting the horses under control with that easy strength of his.

Shit and damn, she was in trouble. He was Sebastian fucking Monroe and a whole degree of difficulty away from Jeff and something had just exploded, she should be wondering about that, not thinking about broad shoulders, long, strong arms, muscled thighs and a really, really great ass. All of it wet, slippery and, oh… She sucked in a breath.

Then something else caught her attention, a bittersweet tang in the air that smelled familiar although there was a taint of burning to it too and then from behind the trees on the next rise a column of steel grey smoke twisted and tumbled up and into the blue sky. She slanted a glance at him, 'is that…'

He nodded, hauling the horses back to a lurching trot. 'Whiskey. Someone's got a still going, or had one going anyway.' He sniffed the wind and glanced at the smoke. 'Looks like it blew up.'

'You think?' She gave him a look from under her lashes, blowing a long strand of hair away from her face because her hands were still busy holding on.

He choked out a laugh, his eyes dropping to her full, lush mouth and lower to the swell of her breasts and the sweat outlined hollow between them. 'Don't know about you, but I could do with a drink if there's any left.' He glanced back up at her face, his eyes searing blue and full of the tension that had been building up between them through the long days and nights on the road until each and any accidental touch between them sizzled with static charge. He finally got the horses back to a walk, his shirt damp with sweat, the thin fabric clinging to hard muscle. 'Want to check it out?'

Tongue flicking out over her lips, Charlie tried really hard not to look at the outline of his chest and six pack under the shirt and totally failed. A drink, she needed a drink. 'Oh yeah…'

…

AN: Well, I'm getting closer to 500 anyway lol! Thanks so much for reading, there are a few more 'whiskey' fics coming, I'll try to post the related ones together, hope to see you there J cheers Magpie


	2. Chapter 2

Whiskey, straight up

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. A follow on from 'Whiskey burn' with a whisper of 'Chains'. On the road, Bass and Charlie are finding it increasingly hard to ignore the thing building between them. They're in the hills, checking out an exploding still and things kind of come to a head over a gun…

AN: Hi and thanks so much for dropping in J these are turning into kind of bite size story chunks lol – or maybe Charloe whiskey cocktails? Anyway hope you enjoy, I'm working on another one now…

The little log cabin on one side of the clearing was still standing but the small barn and lean- at the edge of the woods on the other side were still burning, black smoke rising into the air with debris from the explosion scattered in a ragged semi-circle over the clearing, the trees behind splintered, branches broken and leaves, twigs and small, dead birds falling like strange rain.

The wagon was parked far enough away to be out of sight from the cabin and out of range if anything else exploded, the horses tethered to a fallen tree. There was no sign of movement, nobody running to put the fire out but they were being careful anyway.

Monroe handed Charlie the spare rifle from the back of the wagon, holding on as she tried to take it.

She looked up at him. 'What?' Part of her noted how small her hand looked next to his. She held on harder.

'We could be walking into anything and I've been doing shit like this a lot longer than you.'

She shrugged, smirking. 'Can't argue with that, you've had more time to do shit like this.' She pulled at the gun but he held on. The smirk faded. 'But if you think I'm just going to salute and follow orders like a good little soldier, you're delusional.'

He leaned closer, looming over her, 'Charlie, you can either work with me or be a pain in my ass.' His eyes gleamed, 'which is it going to be?'

She glared up at him, adrenaline and a weird excitement burning through her, 'if I say no will you chain me up again? Fuck you.'

He stared down at her.

She stared back.

His lips twitched and then his eyes got even bluer, closer, full of absolute and total intent.

She didn't know if he moved or she did, or if both of them moved at the same time, didn't care.

All that mattered was that he was finally, finally after all their dancing around pretending it wasn't fucking happening kissing her, his lips soft and hard at the same time, his tongue thrusting, sucking, his scruff soft on her skin now but there'd be beard rash later because he was kissing her as if he'd never stop and that was fine because she didn't want him to, because she was kissing him back the same way.

Somehow her free arm was around his neck, the gun wedged between them, her hand and his wedged too, neither of them letting go of it even in the middle of…whatever this was.

She chuckled against his mouth, pulling him closer, one of her legs sliding between his thighs, her hip pressed up against something long and very hard. 'Is that the gun or are you just really happy?'

His free hand grabbed her ass, yanking her even closer, his chest rumbling. He laughed, the sound full of masculine triumph, his breath hot on her face. 'Honey, that's not the gun.'

She looked down, somehow he'd moved the gun away from their bodies so it was pointing at the ground and not their feet. She grinned and looked up again, meeting that hot blue gaze. 'Prove it.'

…

AN: I think I'm getting the hang of this… 500 words give or take a few lol! Although it's really a chapter I guess, I can't seem to help linking stories! Anyway, hope you liked it. cheers, Magpie.


	3. Chapter 3

Whiskey sour...

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. A follow on from 'Whiskey straight up,' Here's another cocktail inspired tale for you lol. While checking out an exploding whiskey still, Bass and Charlie are diverted into finally scratching their itch.

AN: Hi and thanks so much for dropping in J Here's another little Charloe cocktail, hope you enjoy. It's a little over 500 but maybe you could think of it as two in one maybe?

…..

Even panting with frustration, her lips full of his taste, full of him and wanting more, Charlie didn't let go of the rifle.

Nor did he.

No matter how hard she pulled it was like trying to move one of his 'I'm the fucking President' statues. 'Let go, damn it.'

He laughed, low in his chest, his lips next to her ear. 'Not gonna happen, Charlie.' His free hand was sliding up her back, under her tank then working back down, fingertips slipping under the snug waistband of her jeans. He frowned, frustrated, his hand searching her waist for a way in. 'Shit, that's tight, how do you move in these?'

'Practice.' She smirked up at him while she wrestled one handed with the buttons of Monroe's pants, increasingly frantic until her fingers finally slipped between the seams of the worn denim to find the thick, velvety hard column of his dick. She wrapped her hand around him, exploring, sliding the soft skin up and down, the springy hair over his balls brushing her palm and making him shiver. She looked up at him, eyes bright, full lipped smile triumphant. 'You're right, it's not a gun in your pocket.'

He looked down at her and chuckled, the sound hoarse and a little breathless, 'no, it isn't,' He sucked in a shuddering breath. 'Shit… don't stop… but talking about guns, how about we put the real one down before something goes off?'

She gripped him a little tighter, her hand moving faster, her grin getting wider. 'Ok, but you let go first.'

He groaned, legs braced, hips thrusting towards her, the hand not holding onto the rifle along with hers rubbing and squeezing her ass, pulling her harder against him. 'Damn it all, Charlie, don't be so fucking… stubborn.' He gasped, eyes flickering and glazed as her thumb teased the sensitive ridged helmet of his painfully hard cock, sliding over the pre-cum slippery skin. 'Shiiit.'

Her tongue flicking out over her lips she reached up, rubbing her cheek on his scruff, licking the corner of his mouth, her teeth catching his lower lip and biting, just a little, then letting go. 'All you have to do is let go of the gun.' She leaned harder against him, her breasts mashing against his chest, her voice a low, suggestive whisper. 'A little show of faith?'

He laughed out loud, although there was a growling tension in it and his fingers were gripping the springy flesh of her ass so hard she'd have bruises, his voice hoarse. 'All you have to do is say you'll follow my lead, then you can have the fucking gun and we can both use two hands to finish this.'

The sound of a shotgun being cocked somewhere behind them was very loud and very close.

Charlie froze, all the blood in her face going south and not in a good way and all she could see was Monroe's eyes as they changed from laughter to warning and cold readiness in a split second. He was in a better position to fire, and it was only due to that fact that she let go of the rifle, her fingers sliding off his cock at the same moment as she shifted her weight back a fraction to give him room, feeling the shift in his grip as he got ready to move.

'Now you two pretty lovebirds are gonna turn around real slow with yo' hands up, but don't be trying anythin' stupid or I'll drop you right where you stand.' The voice held the creak and rust of an older man, but it was steady.

Charlie turned slowly, her hands up, using her body to hide both the fact that Monroe had the gun and that he was still hard as a rock, in fact his dick felt like a steel rod digging into her ass. Her cheeks burned, body pounding with a mix of adrenalin, frustration and arousal, her fury at the interruption almost, almost overriding any fear of maybe getting shot… or worse.

Shit. They couldn't catch a break.

The old man was huge, grey and grizzled like a bear, a blue eyed, tattered and slightly singed bear, a sawn off shotgun held steady against his left shoulder and the black hole of the barrel pointed straight at them. The corners of his mouth were twitching a little as he looked them up and down, but the gun didn't move an inch. 'In normal circumstances I'd'a bin polite and just pretended I didn't see you till you were finished and knockin' at the door, but as you can see I've got myself a bit of a problem.' He tipped his head towards the burning barn, 'There's twenty barrels still inside, the good stuff. So if Duncan or one of the other warlords sent you here to buy some you're gonna have to help me save it first.'

…..

AN: Hi and thanks so much for reading J I'm running out of cocktails though, any suggestions? Cheers, Magpie


	4. Chapter 4

Lynchburg honey and lemonade - a whiskey fic…

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened the last time…

AN: Hi and thanks so much for dropping in J Here's another little Charloe cocktail, hope you enjoy. It's in two parts, so maybe a double shot? Part 2 is nearly ready to go.

…..

Part 1.

Somewhere in the Plains Nation.

'Welcome to Lynchburg.' Bass raised an eyebrow as he read the freshly painted sign nailed slightly askew over the original bullet riddled town billboard. 'The new home of Lynchburg honey and lemonade.' He huffed, derisive, 'huh… pretty sure Jack doesn't live here.'

'Who's Jack? And no. Just…no. I've got a bad feeling about this place.' Charlie shook her head, lips curled, peering at the collection of tired looking buildings clustered around a few trees and a dingy park off in the distance. Then she glanced up at the billboard. 'And why the hell would anyone want to put honey and lemon in whiskey anyway? It sounds disgusting.'

He shrugged. 'Don't care if it tastes like horseshit, we need supplies so I'll drink it and smile if it gets us a better deal. I'm getting really tired of rabbit.'

She glared at him. 'Ok. Then maybe I'll just stop catching them.'

He rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Didn't say I wasn't grateful, just that a bit of variety would be nice.'

She shook her head harder. 'There's got to be somewhere better down the road. This place looks even worse than the last crappy town you insisted on taking us to.'

'That one wasn't so bad,' his lips twitched, 'once you got used to the smell.'

She glared. 'It wasn't just the smell and you know it.'

He choked off a laugh, turning it into a cough just in time. 'So they asked us to piss into their fucking tanning vats. At least they didn't try to kill us.'

'No, they didn't, not until you told them I wasn't for sale.'

He put a hand over his heart. 'Charlotte, I'm sorry but I had to say no, you're worth way more than two mules.'

She kept glaring. 'Moron. We only just made it out of there in one piece.'

'Speak for yourself.'

'Don't be ridiculous, it's just a flesh wound,' She leaned over, smirked and patted the rough, blood spattered bandage wrapped round the hard muscle of his left thigh.

'Hey, stop that.' He pulled his leg away with a pained look, 'you'll make it bleed again.'

She rolled her eyes but sat back in her seat. 'Poor baby.'

He ignored that, flicking the reins although the horses just kept plodding on without so much as the twitch of an ear, then he sighed and turned to her. 'Look, Charlotte. I'm sorry about what happened last time, but we could both do with some real food and the horses need somewhere to rest up for a couple of days.'

She let out a long, long breath. 'Alright.' She frowned, her eyes snapping at him, 'but if there's anything even a tiny bit weird about this place we're leaving, no questions, no discussion. And only one of us eats or drinks at a time. Ok?'

For a moment his own eyes flashed hard ice blue at the memory of bloody battle and a dazed, drugged Charlie in a seedy bar in a town very like this one and he nodded. 'Good thinking, and as a perfect gentleman I'll even let you go first.'

She gave him the 'you are a perfect asshole' look, the one she'd given him in that pool and more than a few occasions since.

He snorted, amused. Working out new ways to get a rise out of Charlotte Matheson was making him feel more alive than he had in months. 'You could even try out their world famous beverage?'

They were nearly past the billboard but she glanced back at it then slanted a scornful blue look at him. 'Sounds way too sweet for me, Monroe.' She smiled, tight and full of Matheson sass. 'I like my whiskey straight up.'

An eyebrow lifted, his eyes wicked underneath. 'Same as you like your men?'

She glared daggers then looked away. 'I'm going to be sick.'

Bass Monroe grinned and flicked the horses on. Her lips had twitched, he'd seen them.

….

AN: Thanks so much for having a look at this. I love writing bickering Bass and Charlie J and I imagine that they bumped into quite a few strange people and places along that road… Hope to see you at part 2, cheers, Magpie


	5. Chapter 5

Lynchburg honey and lemonade - a whiskey fic…

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened last time…

AN: Hi and thanks so much for coming back for part 2 and I underestimated things a little bit so there'll be a part 3. J

…..

The Olde Antique Shoppe, New Lynchburg, somewhere in the Plains Nation.

Charlie shifted her weight from butt cheek to butt cheek on the Shaker wooden bench set in front of the lace curtained, olde worlde bay window at the front of the shop, trying to get a bit more comfortable, her wrists and ankles aching and toes going numb because the stupid ropes were tied too tight.

She and Monroe were sitting straddled back to back on the bench, their wrists, elbows and torsos tied together, legs stretched out and ankles tied to the end legs of the bench. Her back and butt were pressed hard up against Monroe's because of the ropes pulled tight around their middles and to make matters worse, no matter how hard she tried to keep it from happening, with their hands tied together hers kept tangling up with his.

His fingers were long, strong and calloused, his palms big and firm and she could feel the coiled strength in his hands every time they brushed against hers. In a totally weird and disconcerting way his strength was reassuring, but still, holding hands with Sebastian Monroe had definitely not been on her agenda for the day.

Shit. She gave up and tried to ignore everything, including him. Leaning back, she sighed heavily and let her head rest against his shoulder, not caring what he thought about it.

He shifted a bit to take her weight but didn't say anything, which was a good thing because she was completely and utterly not in the mood for conversation although her body didn't seem to care about that. Having him so close was like sitting near a fire, the heat radiating through her spine into her belly sending flames leaping southward. Even his butt was hot and as muscled up as the rest of him, firm and springy against hers.

At least it took her mind off the pain in her ankles and calves, and the galloping pins and needles in her thighs.

Their fingers tangled up again, and this time she just let them do it. His fingers and palms were hard, but the skin was kind of soft just where his fingers joined the palm, her fingertips slipping between just smooth and easy as... A tiny little groan escaped before she could stop it leaving her lips.

Damn it.

He laughed a little, low in his chest, letting her do it, his hands relaxed, welcoming, warm on hers.

She could feel his breath getting faster. Like hers.

Oh no.

She cleared her throat and straightened up, pulled her hands away and tried to think of other things. Like the fact that they'd been taken prisoner by bee-keeping, lemon growing, whiskey spoiling fanatics and were being held in the local antique shop because the town was so freaking small it didn't have a jail. Like the fact that the weirdo townsfolk were outside holding a town meeting to decide whether to lynch them or shoot them.

Right on cue, Monroe chuckled, his back vibrating against hers, breaking the tension that was spiralling between them. For now anyway. 'At least they're keeping us somewhere interesting. There's a clock on the desk that I think's genuine eighteenth century, and they've got some Civil war memorabilia that I'd love to have a closer look at.'

He actually sounded interested in all this dusty junk, which was irritating and slightly weird given that they were About To Fucking Die.

Bastard.

She breathed in, then out. Staying calm. So there were some actual antiques in this antique shop in this stupid, antique town? How quaint. 'I'm not talking to you.'

He shrugged, his shoulders jostling hers, his fingers brushing against hers. Again, on purpose this time, deliberately stroking, coaxing. 'That's being a little immature, isn't it, Charlotte?'

Breath in. Breath out. She rallied, keeping her hands determinedly stiff and still. 'Keep your hands to yourself, Sebastian. And next time I choose the town, Ok?'

He actually had the balls to sound offended, pulling away and leaving her feeling strangely bereft. 'How the fuck was I to know the Mayor of this two bit town was from the real Lynchburg and that his wife knew me from when they attended a ball in Philly?' He stiffened up, shoulders flexing as his fists clenched, which in turn made the ropes tighten up around her wrists.

'Ow…' She protested. 'Careful.'

He huffed. 'Sorry. Are my dirty hands inadvertently touching your precious pinkies?'

She rolled her eyes, cursing the fact that he couldn't see her do it and that she couldn't forget the way the Mayor's horse faced wife had fussed and fawned over Monroe, almost climbing into his lap for crying freaking out loud. Her hands had itched wanting to throw the stupid woman into the horse trough. 'Don't worry on my account. I'll just scrub my hands with lye until they're raw if we ever get out of here.' She was so angry she was vibrating.

He snorted. 'You won't get rid of my cooties as easily as that, sugar. Once you've had a taste of Bass Monroe everything else is just cotton candy.'

She felt her jaw drop and for a moment she was too stunned to speak. 'You… you self-centred, narcissistic, conceited moron. You're the reason we're in this mess. If you hadn't made cow eyes at that woman no one'd know we were ever here.' She struggled to pull away from him, then gave up in disgust. The ropes were too tight.

He laughed, dry, mocking. 'For your information I wasn't making cow eyes, I was trying to work out where I knew her from and if she was a threat.'

'She wasn't a threat until you let her slobber all over you.'

Slobber was a total understatement, the woman had positively flung herself at Monroe when she saw him in the street, smarming around him like a cat on heat until her husband came back with a posse, then it was all 'Oh, I was trying to stop him running away, darling.'

Fuming, Charlie paused for breath. 'And not only did the Mayor find you kissing his wife, but he and the rest of his little honey drinkers think you blew up their town when you blew up Atlanta, so I can totally understand why they're pissed at you. What I don't know is why they took me prisoner too and why you fucking let them.'

He turned too quickly, trying to look at her and nearly tipped them and the bench over. He caught it just in time, both of them breathing hard. 'I'll tell you why, Charlotte. One. They had guns, lots of guns. Two. It was probably because you were busy strangling Sharlene or whatever her name is. Three, for your information, I didn't kiss her, she was kissing me and four, I didn't fucking blow up Atlanta and Lynchburg wasn't blown up at all, it got caught in the fallout and none of it was My. Fucking. Fault.' He took a deep breath then shrugged. 'Wasn't my fault she was here either.' Then he mumbled something else…

'What did you say?'

'I said, she was a lousy lay anyway.' He had the grace to sound a little embarrassed.

'Now who's being immature.' Charlie spotted a statue of a little boy with wings and a bow on a pedestal in the corner of the crowded little room. He was looking straight at her, his stupid little stony arrow pointed square at her heart. Damn, she didn't like being in anyone's sights. On instinct she jerked sideways, forgetting where she was.

Monroe braced, solid as a rock, just stopping them tipping over again. 'Hey, cut it out.' It sounded as though he was talking through gritted teeth. 'And I'm not being immature, just stating the facts.'

She swallowed, heart slowing back down again once her body realized it wasn't falling. 'If you say so.' She sat up as straight as she could with the rope around their waists digging into her ribs. 'So, how are we getting out of here?'

'How the fuck should I know. And why's it up to me anyway?' He sounded smug.

Bastard. She stiffened, not quite able to keep a tiny smidgen of panic from her voice. 'Because it's your fault and you always get out of things. It's what you do.'

There was a loaded silence. 'Ok.' He shrugged again, 'then I guess I'm working on it.'

Somebody's shadow moved past the frosted glass panels of the front door. Could be the solitary guard on duty outside, but could also be that the little antiques committee had worked out what they wanted for dessert. Charlie turned to check the window, bumping her head against Monroe's as he turned too, trying to see past her to the door.

'Ow. Damn it. I can't work on getting us out of here if I've got concussion.' He sounded pained.

Pathetic. She ignored him. 'They're coming, work faster.'

…..

An: Thanks for reading and well… ok, I got a bit carried away. Part 3 up soon, cheers, Magpie


	6. Chapter 6

Lynchburg honey and lemonade - a whiskey fic…

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened last time…

AN: Hi and thanks so much again for coming back. I really appreciate the kudos and kind comments, they are fuel for the fire. Cheers, M

Part 3.

Charlie felt the ropes around her wrist slacken off a little and sucked in a sharp breath, her heart pounding with relief despite an unexpected and slightly unnerving expectation that he would find a way to get them out of this. Still, she had a reputation to maintain. 'Took you long enough, Monroe.'

'Had to get my boot off first, Mini Miles.' He was doing something with his left hand, his fingers brushing hers along with something cold, hard and sharp. He hissed and jerked a little once but kept on going.

'Mini Miles?' She considered that, didn't mind, in fact it felt ok. The copper tang of fresh blood stung her nostrils and something warm dripped onto her palm, but by the small amount he hadn't hit anything vital so she didn't worry too much. Then she remembered the wound on his thigh, it would've made getting out of his boot hard and painful but he hadn't made a sound. 'How's the leg?'

He kept working on the ropes. 'Should've moved my knife to the other boot, but don't worry, it won't slow me down.' One of the ropes fell, brushing the base of her thumb. Then her hand was free.

'It better not, not with the whole town after us.' Wouldn't slow him down? Did he think she'd leave him if he couldn't keep up? She thought about that as the rest of the ropes fell away and was still thinking about it when she stood up, stretched out the kinks in her legs and arms and noticed him struggle a little putting his boot back on. He was good at surviving as well as killing and she was beginning to think he was right. Her family would need him and maybe she needed him too. It was another weird thing in a long list of weird things connected to Monroe, but being with him made her feel more alive than she had for a long time.

She decided not to leave him. Not yet anyway.

She glanced around the crowded shop. It was crammed full of old junk, most of it totally useless except for target practice maybe. 'Anything in here we could use or trade?' Her eyes caught on the statue on the pedestal. The little stone guy with wings and a bow and arrow was smirking at her, at both of them. She gave him the finger. Definitely not taking him.

Monroe was over at the civil war cabinets, sorting through the stuff there. 'Found something.' He held out a sword, obviously well cared for and maintained, the blade shining, edge glittering as he pulled it out of its scabbard and swung it once, twice. The metal sang…

She admired it, impressed. 'Nice.' Then she spotted something hanging on the wall that was even nicer. 'But that's more my style.' It was a bow, not as good as her lost crossbow, but it was supple and well sprung and like the sword, in good working order. Whoever owned the store obviously liked their weapons and looked after them. She took it down, fingers caressing the smooth wood, slung the fat leather quiver of arrows that hung next to it over her shoulder then went to a gap in the curtains over the bay window, cautiously peeking out.

The guard was still there, standing smoking a pipe and looking bored. She couldn't see anyone else so the others were probably still somewhere having a cup of tea or something and debating the merits of a firing squad versus a good old fashioned hanging.

'Hey, Charlie?' There was a devilish tone in his voice.

She turned, Monroe was at the back door to the shop tying a bit of fabric tied round his hand and pulling the knot tight with his teeth. He looked hot and sweaty but his eyes were vibrant blue, alight with excitement and he was wearing a wicked grin. In fact if he wasn't limping because of his sore leg he'd be practically skipping.

She couldn't help but grin back. 'What?'

He opened the door a crack, glanced out, and beckoned her over, 'well, I figure that while all those nice folks are busy working out the evening's entertainment, no one's watching the store, or our wagon. We've got time to go get our supplies and maybe even some of that whiskey liqueur.'

She went over to join him, picking up a set of throwing stars and an interesting multi-tool thingy on the way, slipping both into her jacket pocket. 'Then I guess I can force myself to drink some.'

….

'It's not bad.' Charlie took another swallow of the lemony sweet whiskey liqueur, feeling the warmth fill her mouth then set her belly burning as it slid down her throat.

'See? I said you should try it before you dissed it.'

She gave him a look. 'I said it's not bad, not that I'd drink it for preference. I told you, I like my whiskey straight.' She put her glass down, then reached over to the fire, ladled a third helping of hot, rich, venison, corn and potato goodness from the iron pot hanging from a tripod over the coals into her bowl and sat back, eating happily and watching the sparks and little flames dancing into the clear air, bright against the dark. Some of them rose so high it was like they joined the stars spread out high above them. She was so full already she'd had to undo the top button on her jeans, but damn, she didn't care. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything as good. 'I gotta say the stew's pretty tasty though, Monroe.'

The horses were chomping grass nearby getting a deserved rest after going hard for a few hours straight to put distance between them and Lynchburg. It was a familiar, homely sound but apart from that, the crackle of the fire and the occasional night bird calling it was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. She felt almost relaxed for the first time in forever. Almost.

'Why thank you, Charlotte,' Monroe put his own empty bowl down, sighed, patted his belly and lay back against one of the big rocks that surrounded the camp, 'I always liked cooking, got pretty good at it. Miles…'

'Isn't. Yeah, I know.' She groaned, remembering some of Miles' attempts at cooking. She could laugh about it now although it hadn't been funny at the time. Even being half starved hadn't made the stuff go down any better. 'He can't boil water without making it taste like crap.'

Monroe chuckled, 'have you tried his coffee? Stuff can dissolve metal.'

'Didn't have much coffee after the Tower.' She frowned, smile gone, eyes full of pain and bad, bad memories, her mind taking her back to that awful, endless walk to Willoughby. 'Once we found out how bad he was at cooking, we made Miles take the night watch while I did the hunting and Aaron was on meal duty.' She flicked a bug off her knee. 'My mom didn't do anything much except stare into space. Too busy going out of her brilliant mind with guilt.'

'Sorry. It must've been bad.' He actually sounded as though he meant it.

Another surprise. She looked up, he had that look on his face again, the look from the pool when Adam was a little rough putting the honey on her wounded shoulder. As though he actually cared.

She didn't know if it was real this time either. Didn't really matter.

She shoved the memories back in their box and slammed the lid shut, then took a deep breath. 'It's ok. We made it to Willoughby, that's the main thing.' Then she got back to cleaning up the last little traces of stew with a hunk of the bread they'd liberated along with the rest. Soon her tastebuds were singing again.

It had been just as tasty sneaking into the shops and stores and stealing whatever they could find. There'd been no one around at all. It seemed like every single person in town except the poor idiot left guarding them had apparently been involved in the meeting, and as every one of them were planning on murdering her as well as Monroe she didn't feel any guilt at all at taking whatever they wanted. None. Nada. Her only regret was finding nothing in the way of clothes for her or Monroe, but there hadn't been time to do a real search.

She put the bowl down and lifted her glass for a refill as he held out the bottle of whiskey. 'Do you think they'll come after us?'

He shrugged, sitting back again, wincing as the movement caught the wound on his leg, a hand reaching down to tug at the dirty, blood smeared bandage. 'Maybe, although they didn't seem like the posse type, more the 'let's pay someone else like those nicely dressed Patriots to do it,' type.' He took a sip from his drink, winced again and stretched his leg out, hand rubbing his thigh. 'So I'm thinking we'd better get a few more miles behind us tomorrow.'

She nodded, then stopped, blinking. They were actually having a real and almost civilised conversation. Another thing for the list. 'Yeah.' Then her eyes followed his hand and she frowned. 'But before that..'

He glanced over at her, puzzled. 'What?'

She pointed at his leg. 'I think you need to let me have a look at that first.'

He shook his head, 'Nah, It's ok, I'll check it later.'

She rolled her eyes, lips tight. 'No. You won't. You'll go on pretending it's ok until you fall over. And you won't be any use to me or my family if it gets infected and you lose a leg, you moron.' She looked him up and down, an eyebrow lifting, eyes full of Matheson determination. 'I can do it. My mom might be bat shit crazy but my grandpa's a real doctor and I helped out in his clinic for long enough to know a bit about nursing.'

He knew that look. She was a lot like her mother as well as Miles. She wasn't going to stop until she got her way.

She drained her glass, put it down and got to her knees. A smirk curving her full lips. 'I also happen to know you don't have any spare clothes, so unless you want to walk around in short pants because I had to cut the legs off your jeans, man up and drop 'em, soldier.'

His jaw dropped and if it wasn't totally impossible, she'd have sworn he blushed.

He cleared his throat, lips twitching a little, went to say something then stopped and started again. 'Ok, but you'll need to turn around.'

She stopped halfway between on her knees and up, actually surprised. 'Didn't think modesty was one of your faults, Monroe.'

He drained his glass in one swallow then very deliberately put it down on the ground next to him. 'Kind of a surprise to me too but I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Turn around.'

She shrugged and got to her feet. 'Sure. No problem. I need to get a couple of things from the wagon anyway.' She walked away, curiosity and anticipation helping the whiskey start a little fire in her belly because she was pretty sure he was commando under the jeans and that was why he'd gone all bashful. A slightly breathless chuckle escaped her lips. The former president of the Monroe Republic, the scourge of wherever it was, fearless killer, deadly swordsman, bareknuckle fighter and alleged womaniser Sebastian Monroe was shy about showing her his dick. It was priceless.

When she got back with a lantern from the wagon, a bucket half full of water, a spare bowl for dirty stuff and the med kit they'd found in back of the supply store he was lying on his bedroll in his shirt, leaning back against one of the wagon wheels with a towel draped across his hips, most of it bunched up between his legs and over his groin. The wound on his thigh was loosely covered with the bandage, his jeans were a crumpled mound of fabric around his ankles and he was holding a glass full of whiskey in one hand and a gun in the other.

She looked at him, trying not to laugh out loud. 'Cute towel and I get the whiskey, but are you going to shoot me if I do a bad job?'

He huffed, although there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. 'I'm a dangerous man, remember? I'll keep watch.'

She smirked, then got down to serious. 'This might hurt, do you want something to bite down on? Don't want anyone hearing you scream.'

He shook his head. 'Don't worry, I've had plenty worse than this. I'll be fine.'

She held his gaze for a minute. Knew he was telling the truth. She nodded, put everything down, arranged the lantern to give the best light, spread her blanket out as a work space, then dropped to her knees next to him and started laying out her gear.

He was bigger than she'd expected close up, his legs long and powerful and covered in fine curly hairs that flickered gold in the lamp and firelight. His chest was broad and strong under the thin shirt, the bronzed hollow at his throat gleaming with sweat, chest rising and falling with his breath and doing interesting things to his pecs. He was even more good looking close up too. She had to admit that, his scruff caught the light, so did his eyelashes...

He lifted the glass to his lips and took a deep swallow.

Her eyes followed the hand holding the glass, tracing those strong fingers, travelling back to the bandana around his wrist, the thick, ridged scars on his forearm just visible under the shirt sleeve. She wondered briefly when he'd done it, what made him want to wipe out his past like that when he could've just had it tattooed over, turned it into a ship or something? Then her eyes found his chest again, and drifted lower to that ridiculous towel, and what she knew was underneath it. As she watched the towel twitched, as though something was…

Shit. She tried to concentrate but it was hard, he even smelled good, a spicy, sweaty, male scent that tickled her nose and made something deep down inside her sit up and take notice. A lot of notice. Sucking in a breath, she cleared her throat again and twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her neck, suddenly hyper aware of her breasts under the threadbare tank, her nipples pebbled and tingling. The worn fabric seam of her pants felt too tight, riding up between the lips of her pussy and her ass cheeks, the ridge teasing the tender, acutely sensitive flesh between. She felt him watching her too, the space between them filling with an electric tension that made the air thick, heavy.

He shuffled a little, bunching the towel up more between his legs with the hand holding the gun, his voice deep, hoarse. 'Are we going to do this or are you waiting for me to beg?'

A strangled gasp escaped her lips but she turned it into a cough, hoping she'd hid it fast enough. For a moment there she'd thought he was talking about something else, which had made her think about how it might be to hear him beg for her to... Damn it. Face flaming, she cleared her throat, 'I need to get everything ready first.' Shit. She sounded just as breathless as he did.

He tore his gaze away from her, looked down at the bucket and other stuff and nodded, his knuckles white around the glass. 'Oh. Yeah. Just… let's get it done, ok?'

'Ok...' She nodded, pulled herself together with an effort and finished setting things out, soaking her swab cloths in water and alcohol and warming the honey by the fire, the familiar drill helping. Then she reached for the bandage on his thigh. It came away easily, thick and wet with fresh blood from where he'd torn it away from the wound getting his pants down over it. 'At least I won't have to soak this off.'

He winced a little, grunted something and took a deep swallow from his glass.

She looked at the wound. The bullet had gouged a path across the outside of his thigh, tearing through skin and the top layers of muscle and flesh. The edges were dark, cauterised by the bullet but the centre was still oozing blood. The actual wound looked surprisingly clean though despite the state of the old bandage but she washed and cleaned it thoroughly anyway then spread honey dressing on it.

Through it all he kept his word, staying perfectly still, occasionally sucking in a sharp breath but that was it. No screaming, not even a whimper.

She didn't think she could've done the same.

Reaching for one of the clean muslin bandages from the med kit she nudged his knee, 'Almost done. Lift up.'

He raised his leg, putting a hand down to keep the towel in place over his groin as she wrapped the bandage round his thigh. 'Thanks. You did a good job.'

She looked up and couldn't help giving him a smug grin. 'Don't sound so surprised, Monroe, I told you I could do it.' It was a good job he'd volunteered to keep watch though because she'd been so involved with what she was doing as well as trying to keep a lid on her hormones she wouldn't have heard a bomb going off. 'Grandpa made sure I learned how to do a good job,' she shrugged, 'Miles…'

He chuckled, 'knows squat about nursing. I know. He was always better at inflicting wounds than healing them.'

'True.' And it was. Miles was great at giving it out, not so good at cleaning it up. She glanced up at him then tied the bandage off with a neat knot, leaning back a little to inspect her work.

The skin of his thigh was rough with golden hair, the taut muscles rippling as he held his leg still for her, the other leg stretched out straight and his torso bent towards her, the lamp light sending shadows dancing over powerful masculine curves and that oh so handsome face.

One of her hands was still resting on the bandage, but the tips of her fingers were touching the flesh above it and almost without her telling them to, they were exploring the warm, smooth skin, floating over the short, soft hairs that thickened like an arrow towards… Shit. She realised suddenly how close she was to the towel and stopped moving with an effort that had her biting her lip so hard it hurt. She cleared her throat again, although it sounded more like a strangled squeak, her voice not much better. 'You're lucky it wasn't any higher.'

'Damn straight.' He choked off a laugh, carefully not moving, watching her hand on his thigh, gaze intent, fascinated. His eyes flashed up to hers, the blue luminous in the lamplight, a gleam of something wicked and very, very male in their depths. 'Would you still have helped out if it had been?'

She looked down at the bulge beneath the towel, then back up at him, an eyebrow lifting and her lips curved in a smile that was all insinuation. 'Might've needed a bigger bandage.'

This time he let the laugh out.

….

AN: Hi, hope you enjoyed this, I really love that 'before they really get it on' stage, and things are hotting up. Not sure if there'll be another part in this or if I'll catch up with them a little further down the road. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, hope to see you at the next one, cheers, Magpie


	7. Chapter 7

Lynchburg honey and lemonade chapter 4.

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened last time. Turns out she was right…

AN: Hi and thanks so much for coming back for another chapter. I think the initial ending of this fic fest was November 30, but I found out there was a bit more to tell so hope no one minds, lol! Cheers, M

…

After her crack about needing a bigger bandage, Charlie sat back on her heels and watched Monroe laugh. Back in that pool his laughter had been sarcastic, mocking. This was from the belly, big and genuine and full of a kind of relaxed humour that was another surprise to add to her collection of Monroe surprises.

He put the gun down and leaned forward, hand reaching down to hold the towel in place over his groin, mouth still wide in that unexpectedly stunning smile and his eyes bright, curious and very close. 'You are full of surprises, Charlotte Matheson.'

Her eyebrows lifted and she choked off a laugh of her own. 'Was just thinking the same thing about you.' She was losing herself in his eyes, drowning in them, leaning closer, her body seeking his like he was some kind of magnet until their lips were almost touching, one hand finding his shoulder, the heat of his flesh under the worn shirt searing her skin, the other landing on a bare, muscular thigh. Luckily she managed to keep just enough control to make sure it was the unbandaged one...

Just as her lips met his, the sharp, echoing rat, tat, tat of shots, angry shouts and shrieks of pain exploded somewhere off in the woods, shattering the peaceful night and sending birds and wildlife screeching and scattering through the trees and into the sky. The horses snorted, then just kept on eating.

Charlie jumped, flinging herself face down on the ground next to Monroe in a defensive reflex that had somehow along the way become as natural as breathing. 'Shit.' Then she gasped as he twisted round, his hard body landing on top of her with his torso half covering hers and one of his legs keeping hers flat, unable to move. 'Monroe, what the fuck?' her voice was a strangled gasp.

'Quiet,' His lips were close to her ear. 'Those are military issue guns.'

She felt his tension, she could also feel his dick pressing into her hip, an unfettered, hot, hard, bare ridge that temporarily made her forget everything else. Then it came flooding back when one of the lamps fell over, spitting sparks. 'Shit. The lamps. And we need to put out the...'

'Fire… yeah, I got it.'

Her breath shot out of her in an undignified whoosh as he rolled over her in one quick movement, flung the towel from around his hips on top of the coals then tipped the water from the bucket she'd used for cleaning his wound on top of that.

The fire gave up the ghost in a puff of steam.

Charlie gasped, still getting her breath back. 'Ok, I'll get the la...' Then she lost her breath again as he got to his feet pulling his jeans up as he went and she got a really good, all guns blazing in glorious lamplit colour view of what the towel had been covering up.

Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out, because, wow, definitely bigger bandage… When she finally managed to breathe again, she reached over, doused the lamps and got to her feet, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright moonlight, her lips twitching. 'So much for being a gentleman.'

He was busy doing up his pants but shot her a look that was hot enough to curl her toes. 'I figured keeping us alive and out of trouble was a higher priority.'

'Can't argue with that.' She looked him up and down with a smirk and a shrug, 'but now I've seen yours and you haven't seen mine.' The smirk widened and she threw in an eyebrow. 'Doesn't seem fair.'

He went very still but recovered fast, taking a step closer to her, eyes blazing down into hers with something deep, dark and intense burning in the blue. 'Didn't know it was a competition, Charlotte.'

'I just made it one.' She chuckled, tongue darting out over her lips, 'are you game?'

He reached out, the tip of a long finger brushing her mouth, the rough skin catching the soft swell of her bottom lip, his eyes brilliant, full of challenge. 'I'm in. Make your move.'

'Making it now, bet I can undo your pants before you can do mine.' She sent a hand roving over his chest, fingers spreading out, sliding fast and hard over firm flesh and flexing muscle, enjoying the feel of him, the strong pounding of his heart as she stretched up, pressing a hard kiss against his lips, giving it everything she had while her other hand sped southwards and down, aiming for his belt buckle.

He laughed low in his chest, his lips eager and hungry against hers and a hand trailing down over her hair and down her back until his fingers gripping her ass, pulling her close and squeezing the pliant flesh, slipping over damp fabric into the hot valley between her legs.

Another volley of shots rang out, closer this time.

Damn it. She pulled back a little, eyes holding his, feeling breathless and hot all over, the taste of man and spiced whiskey on her tongue and her senses reveling in the feel of his heated, sweaty flesh against hers. 'Hey, that's getting too close, maybe we should check out what's happening before we do this?'

He laughed, low in his throat, his other arm snaking down her front, brushing her breasts and slipping the straps of her tank down over her shoulders on the way to her waist, his fingers starting work on the buttons of her pants. 'Charlie, right now I don't give a flying fuck what's happening anywhere else but here.'

Another shot and more yelling, even closer, in fact it sounded way too close…

'Fuck.' He closed his eyes, opened them again, frustration sizzling. Then he sighed and did her top button back up, hands reluctant, fingers lingering on the strip of skin between her jeans and the tank, thumbs stroking her hip bones and the tender flesh between. 'Ok, I guess they got my attention.'

Charlie grinned, every part of her buzzing. Then she stepped back, pulled her tank straps back up and reached down for her new bow. 'Sooner we get it done, sooner we can get back. What's the plan?'

….

Charlie peered down over the battered and abandoned gas station roof at the battered man lying in the road in the bright moonlight surrounded by a dozen khaki clad soldiers taking turns at kicking and punching him and the two other men on the ground with him. 'Those are Patriots aren't they, and isn't one of the guys they're hitting on that idiot from Lynchburg?' She glanced at Monroe, 'you know, the Mayor?' She handed him the binoculars.

Monroe took them, looked and shrugged, handing them back. 'Yeah, it's him, the other two were on the committee too.' He started to wriggle back down off the roof.

She frowned, 'where are you going?'

'Back to camp,' he looked over at her, eyes full of dark, heated promises, 'you coming?'

Damn her conscience. She looked back at the men currently getting the crap beaten out of them. 'It's not exactly a fair fight. Shouldn't we help them or something?'

He stopped, a dark golden eyebrow lifting, 'Charlie, when we left…' He rolled his eyes and held up a hand, 'Oh, I'm sorry. When we escaped from their stupid fucking second hand shop, which was a lot harder than it looked by the way, they were busy deciding on the best way to execute us. So excuse me if I really don't give a fuck.' He started down again.

She didn't move. 'Remember when I said I didn't like killing, not unless I had to?'

He paused and shrugged a shoulder. 'I do, and I absolutely defend your right to your own opinion.' He started backing away again, 'but the way I see it, right now we don't have to.'

She shot a glare at him. 'Yes. We do.'

He glared right back. 'This isn't our fight, Charlie. Those idiots got themselves into this by going to the Patriots so they can get themselves out of their own mess.'

'We don't know that for sure, maybe the Patriots came asking about us, maybe the Mayor didn't ask them to come?' She winced as another round of meaty thuds rose into the air. '

'That still doesn't make it our problem.'

She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, mouth tight. 'Yes. It does.' Then she turned and in one smooth movement loaded, aimed and shot her bow into the group in the road below.

It was like throwing a stone at a wasps nest.

One of the khaki soldiers jerked and fell backwards to the ground, his eyes wide in blank surprise, the feathers of an arrow fluttering out of his chest. The others shouted, yelled and scattered, diving to cover behind whatever was available, their prisoners forgotten.

Bass Monroe sucked in a long, steadying breath, stared down at the mess for a moment, checking out the men's positions and working out a couple of strategies in his head, then he turned to Charlie, eyes narrowed. 'Once we get out of this...' His lips tightened. 'No, IF we get out of this, we need to work out a few basic rules around getting in to life and death situations, Charlotte.'

She was busy choosing a target and didn't spare him a glance, 'figured it was my turn to get us into a life or death situation.'

He worked himself up into a better position on the roof and got busy too, 'I'll take right, you take left, ok?' He took a shot, scored and moved onto the next, 'I got us out of the last one, and I got you out of the one before that too. Remember?'

She glanced at him this time, flipping another arrow into position. 'Didn't know we were keeping score.'

'You're the competitive one.' He shot her a glance that could melt steel.

She met him with her own and raised him a smirk. 'Really?' She darted out of cover, shot, hit her mark and quickly shot again, winging the next man, forcing him back, dodging while bullets whizzed past her head. 'That's two down, one still on his feet but hurting, how many've we got left?'

'I got two so that makes five out of action.' He nodded over at a rusted RV standing by one of the bowsers, 'there's four behind that,' his eyes tracked to an SUV and a pick-up on the road, 'and another two over there, but it's the one's I can't see that could be a problem.'

The shooting slowed down to an occasional volley from behind the RV and SUV, but they could hear voices.

'They've figured out there's only a couple of us.' Monroe peered over the roof peak again then ducked back as a shot just missed his ear. He sent a couple of shots back to keep them jumping. 'Shit. This'd be a hell of a lot easier if Miles was here.'

'Why?' Charlie glanced at him, strangely hurt. 'We're doing ok.'

He shook his head, his face stark in the moonlight. 'No. We're not. They've got the numbers and sooner or later they'll figure out how to take us down.' Blowing out a long breath, he passed her the rifle and a spare clip. 'Here, cover me.' He leaned in towards her, pressing a kiss to her lips with a heat and passion that had her shaking. Then he slid down the roof and was gone.

She stared, mouth open, 'Monroe?' Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. The roof suddenly felt cold and very lonely.

His head popped back up again, eyes wicked. 'Hey. If I don't come back, at least I won the bet.'

'What bet?' For a moment she didn't know what he meant. Then she frowned. 'Hey, wait just a minute. No you didn't. We didn't get to finish it.'

He grinned, 'I got your top button undone, you didn't even get to first base with mine.' Then he was gone. Again.

Shit. The man was infuriating. So he thought he'd won? She turned and took her frustration out on the morons down below, taking shot after shot, covering him. Doing her job. Because she was going to make damn sure he came back.

…..

AN: Hi I was having such a lot of fun with this story that there'll be one more after this (because we have to find out who wins lol!) cheers, Magpie xx


	8. Chapter 8

Lynchburg honey and lemonade chapter 5.

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened last time. Turns out she was right.

AN: Hi and thanks so much for coming back for the final chapter in this little fic. A huge thank you to LemonSupreme and the GSC – I've had a fan-tastic time writing fics for the Charloe500 fic fest and now it's almost Holiday time so I'll hopefully have time to catch up on some reading! I need to go finish my other WIP, Rebel now tho, and I think there's another one-shot on the cards too, hope to see you again soon… Cheers, M

…..

From her perch up on the gas station roof Charlie saw Monroe appear like a there and gone again shadow, silently ghosting his way from cover to cover towards the four patriots behind the big RV while she kept them and the other two crouched behind the SUV occupied with her gun and bow.

He was on them before they knew anything about it, slicing through the four soldiers like the efficient killing machine he was, sword in one hand, knife in the other, graceful, inexorable and deadly. They didn't even have time to cry out. It was kind of like Pottsboro, except this time she was totally on top of her game as well as totally awake, which was a whole fucking universe better. In fact she got so caught up in watching him that she completely forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

Then he glanced up at her and even from this distance she could see his grin, his eyes lit bright with excitement and something hot and needy that made her belly flutter with anticipation and sent rippling lightening streaks of total, unadulterated lust quivering up and down her entire body.

Shit. This job needed to be over and done. Fast. So she focused on doing what she needed to do, heart in her mouth, covering him as he sheathed the knife, drew his gun and raced towards the two soldiers behind the SUV firing as he went, zig-zagging from left to right to avoid their return fire as they came rushing out to meet him, shooting as they ran.

Charlie swore, they were moving too fast to get a good shot but she kept firing anyway as long as she could without risking hitting Monroe himself because some of their bullets were getting way too close to hitting him and she couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

Not again.

She had plans for Sebastian Monroe, plans that needed him to be in one piece and with full use of all body parts.

…..

The Mayor of New Lynchburg looked a mess, the moonlight turning his pale skin grey, grey hair white and the blood that covered a good part of him black. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his nose a broken, bloody mess, bottom lip split and his left arm hung limp with the hand and fingers sticking out at weird angles. He'd managed to stand, but was hunched over and leaning heavily on the shoulder of another Lynchburg man. The other was almost as badly beaten up as the Mayor although the blood was harder to see against his dark skin.

The third member of the Lynchburg posse was still unconscious, lying crumpled on the cracked tarmac near the tumble down concrete toilet block.

The Mayor took a shaky step towards Monroe, holding out his undamaged hand. 'I don't know why you helped us, General, but we are very grateful that you did, especially after the way we treated you and your friend.'

He looked grateful. In fact he and the other Lynchburg posse member were so cringingly grateful Charlie felt like throwing up. She managed not to though. Just kept her gun pointed steadily in their direction while Monroe did the talking.

Monroe shrugged, ignoring the hand. 'Perhaps I'm not the monster they're trying to make me out to be, Mr Mayor.' He swept a glance over towards the ditch at the side of the road where he and Charlie had dragged the bodies of the patriot troops ready for burial. 'We've done most of it but when your other man wakes up you three can finish covering those bodies up. Best not to leave them lying around in the open, could be more of them coming.'

The Mayor glanced over at the bodies, eyes hard. Then he nodded, 'don't worry, we'll take care of it.' He looked at Monroe with his one good eye. 'But I assure you that I didn't send for them, they found us on the road, seemed to know who we were and that we were looking for you. They asked about you and if you'd said anything about General Matheson or a woman with the same name, or about where you were going.' He glanced at his companion who nodded, agreeing, 'they didn't believe us when we told them you hadn't.'

'So how'd they know we were in Lynchburg?' Charlie's voice was cold.

The Mayor glanced at her then his friend then back to Monroe. 'I'm afraid someone in town must've told them.'

His companion nodded again, a grim smile creasing his face. 'When we find out who it was they won't be making any more reports to those bastards.'

Monroe shook his head, 'If you get rid of their agent they'll know you're on to them and these guys are bad news, believe me.' He pointed at their injuries, 'you think what they did to you was bad? They're the sons of bitches who sent the bombs. Not me, and they won't think twice about wiping out your whole town if they think you're the enemy.'

The Mayor stared at him, shocked, 'is that the truth?' His voice was shaking, 'about the bombs I mean?'

Monroe tipped his head back towards Charlie, 'ask my friend, she and her family tried to stop 'em launching the fucking things.'

Both Lynchburg men swung round to Charlie, the Mayor's one open eye wide. 'Ma'am?'

She glared at Monroe for making her remember it again, then at the others just because they were there. 'Yeah. We tried anyway.' Images of those terrible moments flashed through her mind as clear as if they'd happened yesterday. Miles' voice echoing in her ears, getting increasingly frantic as he counted down the seconds. The bombs lighting up screens labelled Atlanta and Philadelphia and then those terrible mushroom clouds reflected in her mother's eyes.

Some of that must have shown on her face because they were silent for a long moment.

The Mayor took a deep, careful breath, wincing as it caught his bruised ribs, then he turned to Monroe and bowed his head. 'Please accept our apologies for the way we treated you and your friend, General Monroe, and for the accusations we made that were obviously unfounded.' He glanced at Charlie, 'I would invite you to return so that we could make it up to you, but in the circumstances…'

Monroe chuckled, dry, 'it might not be a good idea, I agree.' He turned to Charlie. 'Now, I think my…friend…and I would like to get on our way?' His eyes flowed over her, lingering on her lips, her breasts, the heat in them searing her skin.

She nodded, the bad memories swept away by much better ones of she and Monroe back at the camp, and she suddenly found it hard to catch her breath, her cheeks flaming, eyes holding his and not letting go. 'Yeah, we've got things to do.'

He grinned at her, totally wicked, then turned back to the Mayor, the grin getting wider. 'You heard her, gentlemen. We need to go, so good bye and good luck'.

…..

Charlie scanned the woods around them as they walked back to camp, weapons ready in case there were any more surprises. Monroe was alert too, neither of them talking although he kept close to her, their arms brushing every now and then.

The tension, the electricity between them was so thick she could almost see it, could feel it building until she was amazed that she was able to stay upright, keep walking and not jump his bones right, fucking now. Exhilaration made every step she took easy, buoyant. Maybe it was because they'd just faced another life-threatening situation and won, maybe it was some kind of adrenaline rush she didn't care. The only thing she cared about was getting back to camp so they could finish what they started.

She glanced at him. There were dark triangles of sweat on the back of his jacket where it clung to his shoulders, a few spots of blood on his jeans at thigh level where it had broken through the bandage and he was favouring that leg slightly, but those were pretty well the only signs that he'd just recently disposed of six patriot soldiers single handed. She caught herself, make that seven. He'd found another one taking a leak behind a tree when he first climbed down from the roof and then there were the other two of the five they'd taken down first so all together that made nine. It made her three seem a little, well, second rate.

Her eyes glinted. He'd said he was very, very good at killing which was absolutely true. He'd also said dealing with the patriots would be easier if Miles was there.

He wouldn't say that again.

She had no intention of being second best. Not even to Miles.

…..

Their camp site was undisturbed and beyond the trees the horses grazed peacefully on the lush grasses growing along the river's edge. Dawn streaked the horizon in shades of pearl, pale golds and luscious pinks and the air was clean and fresh.

Charlie walked over to the wagon while Monroe went to get the horses, stowing her pack and laying her weapons down in the back, her heart pounding, body buzzing and not just from the walk. A mixture of excitement and a kind of terror prickled her skin. Being with Monroe was similar to being on a carnival ride like the one her dad had taken her on when she was a kid. It had felt like she was flying then and it was the same now.

There was still an edge of danger for them here and she turned, calling out as she went. 'Hey, maybe we should get some miles between us and thos..?' Her voice tailed off because he was there, right behind her, tall, looming, powerful. Backlit by the brightening sky he seemed even taller. She shivered, every cell in her body jumping to attention.

He took her breath away.

He grinned down at her, predatory. 'Yeah, probably. But we still have a bet to finish.' His eyes gleamed a challenge. 'If you're still up for it?'

She smirked up at him, leaning with her hands on the hard edge of the wagon's flatbed, her breasts full, thrusting out against the thin fabric of her tank, nipples jutting like little fingers pointing at what they wanted.

They wanted the same thing she did.

Him.

Her booted foot edged towards his. 'I'm in. If we've got time?'

A little smile played around his lips. 'We'll make time.' He stepped forward, put a big hand either side of her hips and lifted her up so she was sitting on the flatbed, her thighs spread wide with him between. His hands roamed over her ass and up her back, slipping under the edges of her tank and releasing the catch of her bra, his fingers rough, hard and calloused on her skin.

She sucked in a breath, 'your hands are hot…' Her skin tingled where he touched her, excitement rippling through her like streaks of fire in her blood and she slid a hand up his chest, winding her ankles around the back of his thighs to pull him in closer.

He smelled of heavy male sweat with a tinge of blood and gunpowder and when he leaned towards her and his lips found hers he tasted of whisky and honey.

He sucked on her lower lip, let go, 'so are you.'

She laughed against his mouth and spread her other hand against his chest, undoing his shirt buttons, working down, her fingers brushing smooth firm flesh on the way. 'Are you letting me win?'

He pulled back, eyes dancing, thumbs snaking around to stroke her breasts, flicking her nipples making her gasp and squirm. 'I see it as more of a win win situation.'

Her back arched and a molten streak of arousal arched and flashed from her nipples to the liquid heat blooming between her legs, 'I'm… Oh my God…' Words just disappeared for a moment, then she recovered, refusing to give him the satisfaction but still gasping a little damn it. 'Ok, I guess I can go with that.'

He chuckled, the sound low, triumphant. 'That's settled then.' His lips trailed over her cheek and down her neck, nibbling and tasting, his tongue soft and wet, his voice a low growl and his thumbs stroking the soft swell of her breasts. 'Fuck. Do you taste this good everywhere?'

'I don't know, you'll have to find out for yourself.' She shivered as his teeth and tongue found a spot just at the base of her neck that somehow had a direct, steaming line to her clit, then she reached his belt, bringing her other hand down from his neck to help undo the heavy buckle, her fingers brushing the hard ridge of his cock straining the fabric below it. She licked her lips, it was good to see he was as turned on as she was. Technically she'd won the bet, but... She looked up at him, 'what about the patriots?'

His arms tightened around her, hands gripping her hips hard, every muscle tense and urgent and his eyes were blown almost to black. 'Fuck the patriots. But yeah, I know. There isn't time to chance doing even half the things I'm thinking about right now.'

Damn it. She agreed with him, the last thing they needed was for the rest of that troop of Patriots to find them. He was good, and together they seemed to be really good, but not good enough to fight off a whole platoon. She smirked up at him, 'then we'd better work fast.' She flipped the buckle open, fingers working fast, the buttons below it giving in like they were greased. His pants dropped, catching on his hips.

He sucked in a breath as her fingers found him, circled him, stroking up and down, gliding back and forth over the slippery, domed head. Then he laughed, leaning into her hand and reaching for the buttons of her pants, reefing them open and yanking them down to her ankles so fast she was airborne and down again before she knew what was happening. 'You are something else, Charlotte.'

She gasped, the smooth metal edge of the flat bed suddenly cold on the bare skin of her ass, her hands flying up around his neck in a reflex action, holding on for dear life as his hands went under her knees, spreading her out, the morning air cool on the wet, sensitive flesh of her pussy folds.

And for a split second she was totally exposed, open, more naked than she'd ever felt in her life.

He looked down between her legs, the first rays of sunlight surrounding him, setting his hair ablaze, the matching heat in his eyes taking her breath away, 'God, you're beautiful.' His voice seemed to float to her ears, a whisper riding the sunlight.

She curved her back, bending over between her arms so she could see. Below the rippling muscles and flat belly he was like an arrow, his shaft long, thick, rigid, and aimed straight at her. She could see herself too, the ripe pink folds of her pussy glistening between sun-kissed, softly curling dark golden hair. 'So are you.'

It was totally primal, and more stunningly erotic than anything she'd ever seen or felt before.

He licked his lips, the tip of his cock finding her entrance and hovering there, the thick head teasing her, stretching her just a little, his hips moving in and out no more than an inch or so, finding the right angle, his eyes holding hers with a thousand molten, promises. He leaned towards her, his lips brushing hers, his voice an urgent, hungry whisper, 'next time I'm going to taste you first, ok?'

'Oh yes…' Just the thought of that made every single cell in her body turn to mush.

Then he slid deep inside, stretching her wide, wide open and she forgot about everything else…

….

AN: Hey there, well they finally made it to making out lol! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the ride. Sigh, I love Bass and Charlie, and it's so good that there are still people around who love them too. Thank you all so much and I wish you all the very, very best for the holiday season.

Cheers (and a whiskey toast of course!) xx Magpie


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